Remorse
by dr3mora
Summary: Present-day Cullen reflects on his experiences with the Hero of Ferelden.  Based loosely on the Magi Origin.  I chose an M-rating for this one-shot, because the game itself is rated 17 and up.  Some spoilers, perhaps.


I remember the way she looked at me that day.

Irving was leading her up the steps and into the Harrowing Chamber. Her face was coated with worry; her eyes and around them were creased, showcasing how she felt. Her face was tattooed with some sort of angelic design that reminded me of many, many things – from the way a bird's feathers ruffle after a long flight, to the way the wind gently kissed your cheek during the springtime. I felt horrible whenever I thought of such things, because I knew she had never seen a bird before in her life, let alone seen the sky. Someone with such a gorgeous existence, trapped in a stuffy tower, forced out of her will to delve into books that I could tell she had desire to read – it all made me hold a disgust towards my own order. But I love the Maker with all I can give, and hoped He loved her, too.

I remember she wasn't panicked with worry, but she wasn't content, either. I knew – like all templars with some sort of compassion – that if she had a choice, she wouldn't have done this. If she had a choice, she would have taken the other option – if there was any other option. I couldn't imagine her choosing to undergo the Rite of Tranquility. But I couldn't even imagine her being tranquil to begin with. She just showcased so much emotion, so much love and compassion into everything she did, from taking a book off a shelf to crawling into her bed at night - and Maker, how I wished I could have crawled into it with her.

I believe that she had not noticed me prior until the day of her Harrowing. After Irving had hurried her into the Chamber, she looked around at her surroundings – with lovely care, of course – and I could almost feel her anxiety float away.

Then she looked at me.

I was standing a few feet away from her, and I could feel a sweat breaking out in my armor. My face started to get hot, and the least I could do out of my ability was stare. I never noticed the color of her eyes until I finally had the chance to gaze into them – they were green. The same variation of green you associate with things like emeralds and jewels – symbols of affluence and splendor, purchased with all of the sovereigns in the world that you could ever find, ever hope to gain and imagine.

Everything you could ever dream of.

I couldn't tell what she was thinking when she looked at me. But, for all I know, I could have been just another part of the scenery – I was just a body in the room, standing there, making sure she wasn't going to suddenly crack and transform into an abomination. I was the one nearest to her, and I could easily strike her down at any given moment, were that to happen. Just strike her with your sword – no harm done. "No, Cullen, no harm done at all." I could hear Gregoir now, loud and clear as always.

I was just another templar to her, for I all knew, just another templar. Nothing more – most definitely nothing more – and nothing less.

Then Gregoir and Irving did the usual talk they gave all mages going through their Harrowing as the worry flooded back into her face. I felt like a fool, just standing there and not giving any consolation I could have given her – why didn't I smile when she looked at me? Why didn't I walk over to her, touch her shoulder and let her know everything would be okay? Wait – I didn't know if things would have been okay. No, I would have made myself look even more like a fool if I had said that. How would I know if things would go smoothly – or not? But then again, she was an amazingly talented mage, one that seemed to have skill like no other – not even the higher-ranked mages.

But then again... I guess I've started to ramble about her again.

But, I remember... I remember things going well in the end. She completed her test just fine – in fact, Gregoir couldn't stop raving about it for days. He said it was the "quickest, cleanest" Harrowing he had ever seen. She fell unconscious and needed somebody to carry her back to the apprentice quarters. And, of course, my stupid mouth and I decided we would be perfect candidates.

Her body was very warm, despite being trapped within the Fade for a while. She was dreaming right now – I could tell from my training as a templar, learning how to differentiate a dreaming mage from a mage who was in the Fade purposely. She wasn't too heavy – she was of about average or slightly below average weight. Her mouth was small, but she had full, moist, pink lips. They were open slightly, allowing air to enter and escape. I think her face was all I bothered to look at during my trip to her quarters – but I was too enthralled to look or think of anything or anybody else. She was all I wanted to look at, for I knew I would quite possibly never, ever get this chance in my life to hold something so glorious and deserving of life. Other than her face, the only other things I would remember would be expressions upon the many faces I walked by as I carried her. I set her upon her bed in the apprentices' quarters, her body still limp as its owner was still in a state of unconsciousness. Her chest and stomach rose and fell as she breathed, her face – unmoving.

I remember telling Jowan – a friend of hers – that Irving wished to speak to her when she had awoken. Not too long after, I saw her gracefully rushing down the circular hallways, her hair flying closely behind her like it was some kind of golden veil, and she was the bride.

"H-hello," said I, involuntarily.

She stopped very suddenly and looked at the source of the greeting. She stood perhaps five or six feet away from me.

I felt nervous at the very thought of capturing her interest – or her attention, at the very least – but I continued. "I, um... I'm glad your Harrowing went smoothly."

She seemed a bit taken aback, but nevertheless, she thanked me. Then I continued quickly, with the fear that she might assume that was all and take off. "I-I don't believe we've formally met, but..." I hesitated, but not for long. "...But my name is Cullen. I am usually in your quarters."

It was a quick moment before she nodded. "I remember you, Cullen."

"But I am stationed on this floor today," I added, perhaps unnecessarily. She nodded, and I think she smiled slightly, yet politely.

"I was supposed to be the templar that struck you down, were you to fail your test." I gulped. Perhaps that remark was unnecessary, too.

She walked a little closer to me, and I felt my muscles tighten; the heat within my armor felt very noticeable.

"It's nothing personal," I said. "I swear it. But I'm glad to know that you're all right."

She smiled a little again and looked down. Another moment passed before she spoke. "Would you have really struck me down?"

I thought about it for a moment as my heart was breaking. "I... I would have felt terrible about it..."

It was silent then. If she had meant to ask why I was speaking to her, then she did not ask or she had forgotten.

"B-but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded," I continued, out of an effort to break the silence. But I knew better – a mage of great power, intellect and, most of all, without the slightest bit of compassion for the Maker such as herself, she would have no such interest in my religious pursuits.

"I'm very sorry, Cullen, but the First Enchanter is expecting me," she said, at least politely and kindly. She was about to turn around when she added, "Thank you for being concerned about me." And that was that.

The events that follow I wish I had the motive to forget. But I can't.

Her escape with an accused blood mage and his lover fell short of successful. The blood mage's phylactery was destroyed – there was no way we could search for him on a perfect trail. The Chantry would have to rely on the word of mouth. His lover was a priestess, but I remember her being nothing worth looking at – nobody worthy of being gazed upon for the sake of beauty. Nobody like the Hero of Ferelden. I still hear rumors about the Hero encountering a blood mage during her quest in the search of Andraste's Urn. I hear that the late Lady Isolde had hired him to protect Connor Guerrin from his own sensitivity to magic. But I try to block out those stories – none of the ones I hear end well – but they say the Hero let the blood mage go were he to take a new name and start a new life. I still sometimes wonder if I will ever see Jowan again, the crazed blood mage who pursued the unspeakable in the name of love.

But even before her mad quest to search for the resting place of the burned Prophet Herself did I encounter her that one fateful day in the Ferelden Circle Tower, when it was very nearly destroyed in its entirety. I remember being on my knees, my head down, praying to the Maker for all it was worth. She walked into the room with Wynne, King Alistair and a short elf who spoke fluently with an Antivan accent. She looked down at me and I knew she remembered me. But I didn't want to give in.

"No... You're just another illusion, another memory and object of my deepest thoughts," I remember saying.

Then she said something to me that made me fall back into reality and remember all I felt for her and how all of those feelings were forever lost.

"I always thought... I always remember how horrible I felt," I said to her. "I remember watching you all the time, and sometimes I wondered if we were too hard on you – too strict, too intruding. But I realize now that all of it was completely necessary, and all of those hours that we templars spent guarding your kind were not wasted."

She said nothing – just looked into my eyes, which were flooded with tears. Were I not in the barrier, I can't imagine what she would have done. Would she have killed me, or would she have kissed me? But either one would have put me out of my misery – and I admit, despite how much I cannot bring myself to trust mages anymore, I still wish that she had done the latter.

Today, I often think of the Hero. I wonder if she's still alive, but then I tell myself, "No, she's definitely alive." I heard she was to wed King Alistair and become his queen, but nobody has heard of her in many years. Some say she remains within the castle, perhaps learning blood magic (something I highly doubt, but I do believe the rumors about her using Uldred's skull as a gravy boat) and making stew out of executed men (I'm not sure what to say to this rumor). But I also hear of appearances in the part of Denerim that was restored after the Blight, with the very same elf that was with her at the Tower. But the thought of her running off with a knife ear who was half her height was beyond me – but then again, I'm sure she's changed since the day she left with Duncan in the name of the Grey Wardens.

"Cullen!"

I turn around and see Knight-Commander Meredith standing a very good distance far from me.

"Get back to your duties, Cullen," she says nastily. "I feel odd having to tell that to a templar of your rank."

I turn back around and give one last look at the golden Kirkwall sunset before attending to my post.

Yes.

I'm almost entirely positive that the Hero is no longer the same woman I fell in love with so long ago.


End file.
